


you're asking me, will my love grow

by teenagewaste



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blind Character, Disabled Character, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, High School, M/M, Minho and Newt Friendship, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:52:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagewaste/pseuds/teenagewaste
Summary: "a blind person, in reality, is the only person who can truly see. they know firsthand what true love is, without the use of eyes, but with the heart. and that is the truest form of love, and they harness it" - paul acquasaniaor: the blind thomas falling in love with newts voice fic that no one asked for





	you're asking me, will my love grow

Newt meets Thomas on a Wednesday.

It had been raining for the past two days, and that day had been no different; rain pounding against the roof of the library, thunder shaking the earth, lightening brightening the dark sky every time it struck. Most people hated the rain, but Newt loved it, he found it relaxing. It seemed that the best things always happened to him when the weather was stormy.

He had been walking out of the library when he ran into him, dropping his books and splashing his coffee all over the gray t-shirt he was wearing. Swearing, he bent down to pick up his books, glancing up briefly at the stranger who seemed to be staring down at him with a puzzled look on his face.

“Watch where you’re going, shank,” Newt muttered, quickly gathering the textbooks and notebooks scattered across the floor, chasing the pen that was quickly rolling away from him.

“I’m—I’m sorry, uh. I didn’t see you,” The boy muttered, a dark crimson crawling up his neck to his cheeks.

“Well, of course, you’re wearing sunglasses _indoors,_ man,” Newt rolled his eyes, standing up and facing the stranger.

“Actually, I’m—” 

“Thomas!” Both boys turned to the sound of the voice, facing Newt’s best friend, Minho, coming down the hall towards them. “Newt, I didn’t know you knew Thomas.”

“I don’t; we’re just had an unfortunate collision as I came out of the library,” Newt smirked at the boy in front of him. “Thomas here decided that wearing sunglasses indoors was much more important than seeing what was in front of him.”

Minho got deadly silent, an abnormal occurrence for him, as he was usually making one snarky remark or another. Newt could see the way his eyes widened in what looked like slight panic, before turning to Thomas quickly, and then back to Newt.

“Uh…” Minho began. “Thomas…He’s—uh…” 

“I’m blind,” Thomas said with a slight smile. “It’s okay, though. It’s not exactly obvious, y’know, given the glasses and no seeing eye dog or walking stick. I prefer to try and get around on my own, but it doesn’t really work out too well most of the time. I don’t like to feel dependent on other things or people, so I fold it up and keep it in my bag.” He shrugged, as if being blind and insulted by a complete stranger was something entirely nonchalant. “Although…I probably should use it, considering I tend to get into accidents a lot.”

“I’m so sorry,” Newt began. “I was a proper twat to you, it was unfair.”

“Don’t worry about it, as far as you were concerned, I really was just some dickhead wearing sunglasses indoors,” Thomas let out a slight laugh. “Man, I fucking hate those guys.”

“Ironic enough, considering you _are_ one of those guys,” Newt snarked back with a smirk, before a confused look took over his face when he realized that Thomas couldn’t see his facial expressions. He could see Minho rolling his eyes and shaking his head out of his peripheral vision, something he did often when he thought Newt was being particularly dumb.

“Hey!” Thomas replied defensively. “At least I have an excuse! I’d prefer if my unfocused eyes stayed hidden from the public, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure your eyes are lovely, Tommy,” Newt said, rolling his own.

_Lovely? Tommy? What the hell, Newt?_

He could see Thomas’ neck and cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, before turning his head slightly to the side as if to avoid eye contact. It seemed as if although he was blind, he still had the natural social cues that most other people had, and it was slightly endearing.

“So, Thomas,” Minho stepped a bit closer to the two boys, finally rejoining the conversation, which had since died down a bit. “You feel like joining the two of us for lunch? I’m sure Newtie here wouldn’t mind being your seeing-eye dog for just a little while.”

“Minho!” Newt hissed. “Don’t be such a jerk!”

Thomas on the other hand, just laughed. “Don’t worry about it, really. If I couldn’t laugh at it, my life would be a lot more miserable. I can’t change it, I might as well make light of it.”

Newt and Minho exchanged looks, Minho smirked, and then took Thomas by the arm and dragged him down the crowded hall.

“I know you can’t see it, but the school lunch here actually looks better than it tastes, so you’ll probably want to bring lunch from now on.”

Newt trailed along like an obedient puppy, enchanted by the way Thomas tilted his head back ever so slightly when he laughed at something funny Minho would say.

  

* * *

 

  

“So, Thomas, what do you like to do?” Minho asked, the three boys sitting down at a round table with their lunches, Thomas carefully unloading a paper bag he had pulled from his backpack while Newt opened a yogurt and Minho began to stuff his face with the cafeteria food he so often complained about.

“Well,” Thomas started, reaching about a bit for his sandwich. Minho and Newt exchanged a look, unsure if they should help him or not. Thomas had mentioned that he didn’t like relying on other people for help, but they weren’t sure if that applied to _everything._

Newt decided to bite the bullet and say what was on both of their minds.

“Tommy, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ignorant; you said that you didn’t like to get help from other people, and I just want to make sure that if you need any assistance with something if we should let you handle it yourself of help you out at all,” Newt said with as much confidence as he could, although he felt like his voice was wavering. He had never come into contact with anyone with a disability quite like Thomas’, so he wasn’t sure how to act, but he was sure that if _he_ had a similar situation, he wouldn’t want to be treated with gloves on.

Thankfully, Thomas seemed to be lighthearted and understanding about everything.

“Do you mean should you help me pick up my sandwich? Yeah, you can definitely help me out with that, usually I’m pretty good but my mom wrapped it in something different and it’s sticking to the table right now,” And honestly, Thomas’ smile lit up the cafeteria in a way that the lightening could never.

Newt picked up the sandwich, unfolded the saran-wrap at the top of the sandwich and opened the top of his Sprite, before opening his own yogurt and stirring the fruit from the bottom.

“You never answered my question,” Minho asked through a mouth full of fake meatloaf. “What do you like to do?” 

“Well,” Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his soda and sending Newt a grateful smile. “I liked to read—I still like to read, but I’m still getting the hang of braille. I like writing, and thankfully I memorized where all of the keys on a keyboard are, because that makes it a hell of a lot easier, although my parents did do me a huge favor and got me a computer with a braille keyboard, but again, I don’t really know the whole alphabet yet.”

Thomas shrugged, his lack of sight causing him to miss the confused look that the two other boys shared. He didn’t know braille _yet?_ Asking if they should help Thomas with things is one thing, but neither boy could ask what happened to impair Thomas’ vision or when it happened. Newt knew that if someone had asked him questions like that about his leg, his reaction wouldn’t be the best.

“You sound like Newt,” Minho snickered, sending a side glance towards Newt. “Minus the painting, though. Dude’s constantly covered in some kind of paint or pastel or something, whatever.”

“Hey!” Newt replied. “That just so happens to be what my major is going to be once we graduate thank you very much; art is to me what soccer is to you, I don’t know how many times we can talk about this.” Newt rolled his eyes, thankfully knowing that his best friend was messing with him—he had had too many people judge his love for art or photography, yet he knew Minho would never seriously think anything negative of him for it. It’s why they got along so well.

“I’m sure that you do wonderful work,” Thomas said shyly, a tiny, insecure smile on his face, taking a small bite out of his sandwich in a poor attempt to hide it. The first thought that popped into Newt’s head was that he wanted to take a picture of it and save it forever.

“He does!” Minho said enthusiastically. “You really gotta see it someti…” He trailed off. “Fuck, I-“

“You don’t have to watch everything you say, Minho,” Thomas let out a small chuckle. “If you walk on eggshells around me it’s going to drive you insane and you’re not going to want to be around me. Don’t worry about it, I’m just a human being and I don’t expect people to change anything for me, or it’s going to make everything really damn difficult.” He shrugged. “I could get up and we could end this now, no hard feelings. It’s rough being friends with the blind kid.”

“Thomas, I really like you,” Minho said with a smirk.

And yeah, Newt really liked him too.

 

* * *

 

 

When Minho said that he really liked Thomas, he meant it. Thomas was _always_ around. Minho’s soccer practice that he forced Newt to attend every day even though he just did his homework anyway, Thomas was there. On Saturday nights when Minho had his soccer friends—yes, and Newt—over for pizza and movies, Thomas was there; because yes, Minho, blind people can still listen to movies, and it’s nice to get out of the house and socialize whether he enjoys not being able to see the screen or not. At lunch, Thomas was there. For _months._

And very slowly, yet very quickly all at once, Newt was developing some kind of attachment to Thomas. He didn’t want to call them feelings quite yet, because god knows that Newt and feelings didn’t mix very well together, but there was just a little spark of something there.

It could have been nothing—it _would_ have been nothing—until Minho had to go and bloody point it out. Newt didn’t have friends, not for any specific reason, but mostly because he preferred to observe and write or paint or take photographs. But, also because he had an extremely low tolerance for other people’s bullshit, so he tended to scare people off with his blunt honesty and, well…his unnecessary bossiness, too.

It’s why he and Minho got along so well; the two of them both had sharp tongues and appreciated that the other wasn’t afraid to say what was on their mind. The honesty that they shared kept their friendship strong and neither boy ever feared that the other was lying. This important set of morals came in handy when the two met Thomas, who happened to share the same belief system. He quickly fell into rhythm with Newt and Minho, and soon the three boys were almost inseparable, which was part of the problem. 

Newt didn’t have _friends._ And because Newt didn’t have friends, he didn’t know how to initiate plans with people that weren’t Minho; especially when they were boys who made his stomach do strange flips sometimes. So, he went to Minho for help, which was his first mistake.

Newt should know better than to ask Minho for help by now. He’s known Minho since third grade.

“Well, of course you can’t ask him to hang out, you dumb shank,” Minho said, rolling his eyes and shoving a mozzarella stick in his mouth. The two boys were sitting in a restaurant, waiting for Thomas, who was running late babysitting his younger brother and said to start ordering without him. “You’re practically in love with the dumb kid. And wait, how does a blind kid babysit? I have got to ask him when he gets here.”

“Minho! You’re the most insensitive twat there is!”

“Do you see what I mean? Thomas would be in hysterics, probably make some stupid joke about how his brother burned the house down or something, and you’re defending his honor. You’re into the kid, why do I _always_ have to be your voice of reason?” Minho dipped another mozzarella stick into the marinara sauce, rolling his eyes and taking a bite. “If you don’t eat some of these, I’m going to finish them. Growing boy’s gotta eat, man!” 

“I think I’m okay,” Newt grimaced. “I’ll wait until Tommy’s here to order real food.”

“And that’s another thing!” Minho exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the table, causing a few couples and families around them to send the two boys dirty looks. Minho at least had the decency to look a slight bit ashamed, and lowered his voice a bit. “Tommy! You’re always calling the damn kid Tommy! I called him Tommy-boy once and he looked like he was going to break my nose!”

“Do you think he wants to break my nose?” Newt asked, slightly alarmed. He hadn’t realized that the name bothered Thomas so much, he never mentioned it. Newt instantly started to feel bad—for months he had been calling him Tommy, and if he hated it why hadn’t he said anything? Newt would have stopped immediately if Thomas asked him to.

“Newt, you’re missing the whole point, here,” Minho rolled his eyes.

“If you keep doing that, they’re going to get stuck like that,”

“Oh, shut up, there’s no scientific proof of that, asshole. The point I’m trying to make is that he hates when I call him Tommy, but when you call him Tommy, I can practically feel the god damned heart eyes, it’s disgusting, I want to throw up at all times,” Minho finished off the rest of the food in front of him, leaning out of the side of the booth to check if Thomas was coming.

“Talk about throwing up after you just finished an entire plate of mozzarella sticks by yourself,” Newt muttered, putting the dirty napkins and plates on top of each other to make it easier for the server to clean up.

“Hey! Nice of you to finally make it!” Minho exclaimed. Newt’s head immediately snapped up, dropping the fork that he had been holding, causing it to fall onto the stack of plates and send them crashing down.

“Oh, my God,” Newt mumbled, covering his face with his hands. 

“Is everything okay? Did something break? Newt, are you okay?” Thomas asked hurriedly. He went to bend down to check that everything was alright, underestimating just how much room he had and whacking his hipbone on the edge of the table. He bent over and groaned in pain, cursing loudly. “That’s…that was great. Loved that, fantastic. Can someone help me sit?”

Newt stood up, grabbing Thomas by the elbow and guiding him into the seat next to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, at this point I’m really good at bumping into things, I think I might be immune to bruises,” Thomas let out a chuckle.

“Uh…do you know…what you’re getting?” Minho asked Thomas slowly.

“I asked the hostess for a braille menu when I came in,” Thomas smiled. “It’s why I asked if we could go to Applebee’s; half off apps after 10pm, and braille menus. The best of the best!”

“Wait, are you trying to tell me that there are places that don’t offer braille menus?” Newt asked, slightly outraged. “That’s like…a bathroom without a handicapped stall or a changing table for a baby, or a supermarket without those mobility scooters, or without the option to press one for Spanish!”

“Whoa, Newt, calm down,” Minho looked at him a little skeptically. “It’s…just a menu?”

“Nah, I mean, I understand where he’s coming from,” Thomas shrugged. “It’s technically discrimination. I can name on one hand all of the places that I know of that I can go to where they offer menus in braille, but really, what am I going to do about it? There’s not much I really…can do I guess. It’s not something that actively bothers me, anymore, at least.”

Newt and Minho stared at their friend in slight awe of how he took everything in stride, no complaints about anything. Neither boy could imagine how they would deal with Thomas’ situation, and they couldn’t help but admire him.

 

* * *

   

“How do I ask him to hang out with me, y’know, alone?” Newt and Minho were sitting alone at lunch for the moment, waiting for Thomas to arrive from his physics class. Newt typically insisted on meeting him and walking him to lunch, but Thomas assured him that he could make it on his own. Newt worried about him from the second he left his class until the moment Thomas sat down at their lunch table, although he knew it was irrational—Thomas could take care of himself.

“You say, ‘Hey, Tommy, how would you feel about coming over and making out for a little while?’”

“Minho!” Newt hissed, checking the cafeteria doors quickly. “I’m being bloody serious!”

“So am I!” Minho whacked Newt on the back of the head. “He’s clearly into you just as much as you’re into him, just ask him to hang out. You guys like the same stuff, you guys have good conversations, you’ll have no problem sitting in a room and just talking to each other. Ask him if he wants to hang out on Saturday.”

“But we always hang out at your place on Saturdays,” Newt protested weakly.

“No, Newt,” Minho shook his head. “I hang out with my soccer team on Saturdays, and you come because I love hanging out with you and having you there, but you absolutely hate it because you hate the guys on my team.” 

“Okay, maybe you’re right,”

“Minho? Right about something? Blasphemy!” Thomas chuckled, feeling around a bit before finding and taking his seat next to Newt, after nearly giving him a heart attack. “I made a friend in my physics class, is it alright if she sits here today? She usually leaves for lunch but she doesn’t have her car and I don’t want to leave her alone and—”

“Thomas, you’re babbling,” Minho rolled his eyes. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Teresa, she’s really sweet, kinda funny, uncomfortable about the whole blind thing. She’s buying lunch right now,” Thomas smiled. “How’s your day been, Newt?”

_Pretty alright, until you decided to bring a bloody girl to our table, that’s how it’s been._

“It’s been alright. My English teacher assigned us an essay for the weekend due Monday, which is about as close to cruel and unusual punishment that you can get without it being illegal,” Newt smiled, Thomas letting out this beautiful laugh straight from his core, and it filled Newt with this feeling of pure, unadulterated happiness.

Until the most beautiful girl he had ever seen sat down directly next to Thomas.

“Tom! So, these are your friends? Minho and…?” Teresa said, a bright smile plastered on her flawless skin. Newt was too busy seething to decide whether or not she was a genuine person or not. For all he knew, she could have been the type to rescue kittens out of burning buildings in her free time—he still hated her for taking Thomas’ attention, and for clearly giving him a sickeningly adoring look.

“Newt,” Thomas said with a smile on his face. “His name’s Newt.”

“Right, I think you mentioned that earlier.” She turned back to Thomas, hand under her chin propping her head up so she could gaze at Thomas shamelessly. At least he had the decency to do it slyly; just because he was blind didn’t mean she had to be so obvious about it.

Thomas turned a bit, meaning to face Newt but facing somewhere above his left shoulder, “So, how has your day been, really?” Newt could see Teresa’s face fall as Thomas’ attention shifted off of her, and Newt grew a bit smug. 

“It could’ve been better, I don’t particularly want to get into it, though,” Newt replied softly.

“I can respect that, but just, talk to me if you want to, okay?”

“You know, actually, Tommy,” Newt said, slightly louder than he expected to. He surprised himself, but it was now or never, before he lost the nerve. “Would you like to come over on Saturday? I have the whole Star Wars saga we could watch and a ton of beer in the fridge, you could stay the night if you need.”

“You had me at Star Wars,”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Friday night came, Newt was a complete disaster. His room was in shambles—clothes everywhere, art supplies scattered all over his desk and his bed, cameras and film messily arranged on shelves. He hadn’t had the time to clean Wednesday or Thursday nights; he was much too busy getting all of his work done for the weekend so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting it done and could enjoy his time with Thomas. Yet, now that the time has come to get ready, he was scrambling to clean as best as possible.

Minho was sat at his desk, spinning around on the chair eating a reheated slice of pizza.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, it’s just Thomas,”

“It’s _Thomas,”_ Newt said, exasperated. “That’s exactly why I’m worried!”

“The kid can’t even see!”

“Exactly! He can trip!”

“Then just clean up the floor, dumbass!”

“…That’s probably a good idea.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s why you keep me around, shank,”

“Shut up and help me throw this laundry in the bin, before I kick you out,”

 

* * *

 

  

Soon enough, it was Saturday, and Newt was much calmer than he thought he would be. Although, he was slightly convinced that once Thomas arrived he would turn into a stuttering, stumbling mess, like he always was around Thomas. It would be just his luck. It’s like the calm before the storm. 

At twelve fifty-two, exactly eight minutes before Thomas was supposed to arrive, the doorbell rang, and Newt jumped off of his couch, smoothing down the flannel that he spent forty-five minutes picking out this morning—because yeah, Thomas can’t see, but that doesn’t mean Newt can’t look nice anyway—and practically ran to open the door.

Newt never did learn any subtly.

He opened the door and came face to face with a bright-faced Thomas, large smile on his face and a family sized bag of cheese puffs in his hands.

“I figured that since you had beer and Star Wars, I would bring a snack,” His smile turned a bit sheepish.

“We do have snacks here, Tommy,” Newt rolled his eyes, taking Thomas by the wrist and dragging him inside to the couch.

“But, yet, what kind of guest would I be if I brought nothing?” He pouted dramatically, opening the cheese puffs and beginning to eat. “I’d put the movies in, but I don’t know where your DVD player is.” He smiled playfully and laughed as Newt handed him an open can of beer, taking a sip.

“I think you can really see, you’re just so lazy you pretend to be blind so I’ll do everything for you! You abuse my kindness!” Newt replied, putting the DVD in before exaggeratedly falling onto the couch. 

“You caught me! I faked being blind for months before I met you because I knew that one day I would meet you and I knew that your kind soul would take pity on me and take care of my every whim,” Thomas drooped his head onto Newt’s shoulder and fell into a fit of giggles, as did Newt, until something about Thomas’ comment started to bug him.

“Hey…you know that I don’t take pity on you, right? I really enjoy hanging out with you, and you’re one of my really good friends—hell, one of my _only_ friends. I don’t want you to think any less,”

“Newt, I know you don’t pity me, I was fucking with you, don’t worry,” Thomas smiled at him. “You’re one of my really good friends, too. Thank you for treating me like a human and not like a glass doll. It means a lot.”

“Anytime, you nerd. Now, let’s watch things get blown up,”

  

* * *

 

 

One and a half movies, two Dominos pizzas, a box of cheesy bread, a bag of cheese puffs, and two and a half six packs later; Thomas and Newt were officially drunk—but it wasn’t their fault they were lightweights, they were sixteen years old. 

“Y-y’know,” Thomas hiccupped. “The three episodes that Family Guy did of Star Wars were really fucking funny, like. I feel like they would have been funnier if I had actually _seen_ them, but oh my god just listening to them I laughed so damned hard, Newt.”

“I’ve never watched them,” Newt replied. “Never really watched Family Guy, I guess I never really saw the appeal.”

“Dude! We have to—have to watch! Let’s do it.”

“Wait, wait, Tommy,” Newt said with a slight urgency to his voice. Thomas froze, trying to turn and look at Newt but not really knowing where to turn; he couldn’t tell what direction his voice had come from. “I have to ask you this before I sober up and lose my nerve.”

“What…what’s it like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being…you-you know,” Newt replied in a whisper. He immediately felt bad asking, he didn’t really even know what possessed him to.

“Being blind?” Thomas answered; God, so casually, as if Newt had just asked about the fucking _weather._ “I mean, it’s not exactly fun. Ten out of ten would not recommend to a friend. What do you mean by ‘what’s it like?’”

“I-I mean…what do you see?” 

“Hm…it’s sort of hard to explain, and I don’t think you’d get it, especially with a swiss cheese drunk brain,” Thomas laughed. 

“Try me,”

“It’s like—it’s nothing. I see nothing. I don’t see black. You know how you don’t see anything in your peripheral vision, but you clearly don’t see black, because you just don’t see the things that are there—it’s just like that. I just don’t see anything.” 

“That’s…” Newt had no idea how to reply, he was at a loss for all words. It was if he forgot how to string together a sentence.

“You don’t have to reply, it’s a lot to take in, I know, and it’s hard to understand. Sometimes I have trouble wrapping my head around it too, I guess.” Thomas shrugged, and there was something so nonchalant about the way he talked about everything, as if he was hiding how much it affected him. It made Newt want to make him feel.

Newt wanted to ask him what happened, how it happened, because clearly, he hadn’t been blind his whole life, but he wanted to ask him something else instead—something that he had wanted to ask for _months._

“Something else—” Newt blurted out suddenly. “I—I need to ask you something else, too.” 

“W-what is it?” Thomas replied breathlessly. 

“Can I see your eyes?”

Thomas stared at him for what seemed like forever, looking like he was going to bolt, before he dropped his head. “They’re ugly.”

“Tommy, you’re beautiful, there’s not a part of you that could be ugly, love,” Newt encouraged, and he meant it. No matter what Thomas’ eyes looked like, nothing about them could make the boy in front of him even the slightest bit ugly.

“You think I’m beautiful?” His voice was awestricken, like no one in the world had ever told him that he was beautiful before. It was a damn shame, and no matter what happened, Newt needed to make sure that Thomas heard it every day for the rest of his bloody life. 

“I think that you are the most beautiful person on the planet, and that no matter what your eyes look like, they’re god damned beautiful too.”

“I need to do something first,” Newt stared at him for a moment, confused. What would Thomas possibly have to do? Both boys were still drunk and thoughts were fuzzy, so when Thomas leaned in to kiss Newt—God knows _how_ he knew where his mouth was—and his brain went haywire, he froze.

He froze for a solid eight-seconds before Thomas pulled away.

Newt stared at him for another ten-seconds before Thomas looked away—so God damned _hurt,_ and holy fuck it looked like he had tears in his eyes and _Newt_ did that.

Thomas announced that he was going home, and all Newt did was fucking _nod_ because he’s a bloody  _idiot_ and he has no idea how to talk to people, and he’s drunk, and well, he’s already fucked up this much, why not fuck up some more, right?

After Thomas leaves without saying goodbye, Newt decides he’s never drinking again.

  

* * *

  

Thomas doesn’t sit with them at lunch the next day; he goes out with Teresa in her silver fucking car. They go and get _milkshakes_ and Thomas loves milkshakes but he thinks it’s weird when people dip their fries in them which was cool because so does Newt. He bets Teresa likes to dip her fries in her milkshakes, she just seems like that kind of person.

Newt sulks the whole lunch period, which of course made Minho pester him about it.

“So, uh, Tommy-boy isn’t sitting with us today, what’s that all about?” He asked, sliding his bag of Cheetos closer to Newt. The action just makes Newt think of Thomas, which in turn makes him slightly nauseous and hate himself just a bit more.

“Maybe he’s so wrapped up in Teresa’s sickeningly blue eyes that he forgot that we existed,” Newt grumbled, watching as the two walked in from the parking lot, Teresa’s arm wrapped securely around his. He knew that it was just a kind gesture, something to prevent him from having to use the cane that he absolutely loathed, but Newt hated seeing it all the same.

Minho gave him a bored look. “Newt, he can’t _see,_ how would he know what color her eyes are? 

“It doesn’t bloody matter! Because I messed up any chance I had with him Minho,” Newt whined. “It was great, wonderful, even, and I screwed the whole entire thing up because I couldn’t get my idiotic brain to connect to my mouth.” The bored look on his best friend’s face grew concerned and he rested a hand on Newt’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Okay, start from the beginning,”

“Thomas came over on Saturday, and really, it was great. We sat and watched some movies, ate, drank—”

“That was your first problem, buddy. You turn into a moron when you drink,”

“Yes, _thank you_ , captain hindsight, I’m fully aware of that now,” Newt rolled his eyes. “Would you like me to continue my tragic woes of love?” 

“Yes, please—God, you’re so fucking _dramatic,_ ” Minho mumbled, shoving a fistful of Cheetos in his mouth to prevent himself from interrupting Newt’s story.

“It went incredible at first, we got on perfectly well! And then we got to talking—about real things, like life, and things that genuinely _matter_ , and he has so many important opinions on important things and he’s such a great person and I really fucked that up—” 

“Newt!” 

“Sorry, sorry!” Newt held his hands up in surrender before continuing. “We were talking, just sitting on the floor next to each other drinking, and we got to talking about his eyes, because you know I can’t stop babbling when I’m drunk. I asked if I could see them, and I really thought he was going to let me, and I told him that he was beautiful—fuck, Min, I meant every damn word of it—and then, then he _kissed_ me…and I fucking froze! I froze for the whole kiss, and then I froze as he god damned _left!_ I let him leave and I’ve been avoiding him ever since because it’s much too late to make up for it now, isn’t it?”

There was a long pause before Minho slapped Newt across the back of the head, the action beginning to become a habit. He had a deep scowl on his face and Newt honestly wasn’t sure of the last time he’d seen Minho look so annoyed with him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you some kind of idiot?!” 

“What the hell, Minho?!” Newt shouted back.

“You had the absolute _perfect_ opportunity, right there in the palm of your hands! The dude that you’ve been literally obsessing over for the past four months _kissed_ you, for fucks sake! And you _let him leave!_ And now, to make things even worse, you’re avoiding him.” Minho sighed, dragging his hand across his face. 

“You’re being a really bad best friend right now,” Newt pointed out. “Aren’t you supposed to take my side, you know, _comfort me_ , or something?”

Minho gave him a look of absolute pity, shaking his head. “Not when you’re being this much of a fucking moron, dude.”

Newt sighed, looking at where Thomas sat, sipping happily at his milkshake until Teresa tried to take his glasses off. Newt could see the moment that Thomas’ posture shifted from happy and relaxed to tense and uncomfortable as he tried to politely get Teresa’s hands off of his glasses. Anger flared up inside of Newt, his defensive nature bubbling to the surface and all he wanted to do was walk over there and tell Teresa to back off; that he was _clearly_ uncomfortable.

But, Minho could always tell when Newt was going to do something stupid, and he put a hand on Newt’s forearm, whispering, “It’s not your battle to fight, right now. You’re going to fix this, and then you can do whatever it is you’re imagining doing in your head, got it, you psycho?”

“Got it,” Newt replied with an exaggerated eyeroll. “How do I fix this? How do I show him that I really am just an idiot?”

“Remember that Thomas is _also_ just an idiot,” Minho laughed. “Probably a bigger idiot than you, Newt. He’s a nice guy; I think you’re underestimating how easy he’ll forgive you.”

“What if the damage I’ve done is irreparable? He seems to be quite friendly with that girl,” He said with clear distaste.

“Her name is Teresa and you know it’s Teresa, quit being so bitter. And I’m pretty sure that Thomas just might be gayer than you are—and if he’s not, he’s shittier at taking hints than you are, so he definitely has no idea that Teresa’s into him, and he’s not into her,”  

“Do you even stop to take a breath when you speak?” Newt said incredulously. Minho had the insane skill of being able to talk for outrageous amounts of time without needing to stop to breathe; Newt figured it was because of all of the practice he got talking to hear the sound of his own voice. “And how could you possibly know any of this? Can you read minds?”

“No, Newt, I can’t read minds, although that would be fucking _wicked sweet,”_ Minho smirked, before his face turned serious again. “I know people—I know high school. I can observe better than you think I can and I’ve been involved in so much high school drama bullshit that I just know what people act like, what people look like, what they’re like. I’m a high school expert, Newtie, trust me on this. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Would you like me to answer that honestly?” 

“Probably not, but just, trust me on this one, okay?” The bell signifying the end of the period rang, Minho standing up quickly, placing his hand on Newt’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve already got a plan for you to help win your lover boy back. Meet me in the lobby after school and we’ll head to my place, yeah? I promise, it’s genius.”

The further Minho walked away, the more dread filled Newt’s stomach.

 

* * *

  

“ _This_ is your plan?” Newt exclaimed, looking at Minho exasperatedly. “A bloody mixtape?”

“Well, I figured it like this, okay?” Minho spun around at his desk chair to face Newt, who was sat on the bed. “Thomas is blind, so doing something super extravagant is a little out of the picture. He really likes music, and it’s something he can enjoy without having to be reminded that he can’t see it, right? I feel like that’s a pretty good gift. _And_ you can pick some lame, sappy songs to put on it; that’s the beauty of the mixtape. It’s why they’ve survived since like—the 70s or something.”

Newt rolled his eyes, but couldn’t necessarily disagree with Minho’s reasoning. He realized that it sort of was a good way to apologize to him; although he’d have to find the right songs.

“Minho, I hate to admit this, but I need your music taste.”

 

* * *

 

 

After exactly nine days of searching for the perfect songs, finding an old tape deck in Minho’s parent’s attic as well as an old cassette tape—and then a cassette player to go _with_ the tape because,” _Newt_ _! It’s not an authentic mixtape if it’s not on a cassette!” “Minho, where is he going to get a bloody cassette player?!”—_ and a company that would expedite shipping for writing in braille, the apology mixtape was ready to be wrapped and given to Thomas.

The only thing that wasn’t ready was Newt.

He had decided early on in the process that he had wanted to write an apology letter, and two sentences in, he had lost all ideas on how to apologize to the boy. He felt as if he had made Thomas feel horrible in so many different types of ways; especially because they had just been talking about a very sensitive subject—no matter how lighthearted Thomas liked to act about it. But in addition to the letter being so difficult to write, Newt was absolutely terrified to give it to Thomas; so scared of the rejection. Minho insisted that rejection should be the last thing on his mind—that Thomas wouldn’t reject him and that he was just hurt at the moment, but Newt didn’t know how Minho could possibly know that for sure.

Newt looked down at the list of songs he had printed out underneath the braille versions of the titles, hoping that Thomas at least enjoyed the message Newt was trying to send him.

_something – the beatles_

_there is a light that never goes out – the smiths_

_close your eyes – rhodes_

_wildfire – syml_

_next to you – of rust and bone_

_flares – the script_

_lighthouse – hearts & colors_

_peach – the front bottoms_

_smell of this place – the early november_

And, just for safe measure, he added _Hotel California,_ because at least he knew that Thomas would get a laugh out of that one.

Newt was simply staring at the short list of songs that he and Minho struggled for hours to put on the cassette, thinking about how much he wanted to make things right with Thomas. Slowly, the words began to hit him until he couldn’t stop writing, messing up here and there with things that he decided he didn’t want to say to Thomas just yet, but thoughts flowing all the same. His final step was sending it in to get it translated into braille. 

 

_Thomas,_

_I hope that you decide to read this, although I do entirely understand if you decide not to. I was a proper jerk to you that night, but I do wish that you’d let me explain myself. I do apologize now, however, for how absolutely rubbish this letter is going to be; I’ve never been quite so good with my words—screw whoever said that brits are elegant. I’ll start off with saying that, well, I’ve wanted to kiss you for…wow, for a very, very long time. And you can ask Minho, or, really anyone that’s ever seen me when I’m drunk, I turn into a disaster. When you kissed me, I couldn’t get my brain to connect to any other part of me, and I froze up until a little bit after you left when I realize, holy crap, I just let you leave like that. And then, I saw you with Teresa like that, and I figured that maybe you had found interest in her, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do, plus, I had already fucked up enough, I didn’t want to buggin’ annoy you anymore. Well, anyway, I guess the point of all this rubbish is that I’m extremely sorry for what happened, and I would do probably anything for a second change (I have to say probably because I have limitations, Tommy). Take this as a token of my apology, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope that you can find it in you to forgive me._

* * *

 

Newt had Minho give the apology cassette and letter one day during lunch, catching him before Teresa got there to take them out to some ‘new café that Teresa wanted to try’ as Thomas described it. Sounded like a date to Newt. Minho advised Thomas not to open it until he got home—alone at home—and when Thomas questioned it, Minho just patted him on the back and told him that it was important.

Minho came back over to the table, sitting down across from Newt as Teresa walked up to Thomas. Newt could see her give Thomas a strange look as she pointed down to the box in his hands, no doubt asking about it, before looking over at the two boys with an indescribable look on her face. She shook her head, turning back towards Thomas and hooking her arm around his like usual and guiding him out into the parking lot—to her fancy café in her fancy car dipping her french fries in her God damned milkshakes.

“Newt…” Minho whispered cautiously. Newt hadn’t even realized that he was clenching his yogurt to the point of overflowing and he quickly let it go, swearing and grabbing the nearest napkins.

“Do you think she dips her fries in her milkshakes?”

“Uh?” Minho looked at him as if he had just grown three heads. “I don’t see why it matters?”

“Or if she heats her pizza up in the microwave or the oven?”

“Newt, have you lost your god damned mind?”

“Because Thomas thinks it’s gross when people dip their fries in milkshakes and he thinks it’s absolute _blasphemy_ to reheat pizza in a microwave.”

“I think you’ve lost it.”

“You’re supposed to be my best mate!” Newt whined. “You’re supposed to support me through my irrational rants!”

“Not when they’re about the way a girl prepares her food, c’mon, Newt!”

 

* * *

 

Newt woke up the next morning and the sun was shining brightly through the curtains of his bedroom window. Sometimes, he felt like he was the only person who hated the sunlight, who hated the nice weather. He would love if it could rain all the time—if the weather could be dreary and cloudy every day for the rest of his life. 

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he had given Thomas the tape, but he was still feeling extremely discouraged. It had been complete radio silence from the other boy; not a call, and typically he would see Thomas in the coffeeshop before school, or by this point in the school day, but no sight of the boy so far.

Even when he asked Minho—who had his first two periods with the other boy—hadn’t seen him, and Newt was beginning to get worried. Tape aside, he worried for Thomas’ wellbeing over anything.

Two periods before lunch, Thomas appeared in the hallway before Newt’s photography class, smiling like he had just heard the best news of his life, walking stick out in front of him. Newt felt like his whole body relaxed, just seeing Thomas in the flesh, just knowing that he was alive and okay and _breathing._

The period before lunch, it started downpour; entirely skipping the light drizzle and going directly to the violent drops of rain beating down from the grey sky. Newt stares out of the window of his calculus class, thankful that the sunny weather has past and he can enjoy the sound and the smell that the rain brings. He’s always found more beauty in rain than in sunlight, although he’s never quite been able to pinpoint why.

He meets Minho outside of his classroom, the two boys walking in a comfortable silence to the cafeteria; Newt in his own hectic thoughts, Minho smiling at one of the million messages he got during the last period that he hadn’t been able to answer. They sit down, and Newt notices Teresa leaving towards the parking lot with a group of girls—sans Thomas, which confuses him. He had surely seen Thomas earlier, unless his mind was playing tricks on him. Which in that case, Minho was right; he was going entirely insane.

He pondered the thought of that for a few moments until the sound of Minho clearing his throat broke through them, “I’m just gonna—” He said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah. See’ya!”

Newt was confused for all of four seconds before Thomas sat down in front of him, a conflicted look on his face. 

“No one has…ever done something so nice for me,” Thomas said quietly. “You really care that much?”

“Of course,” Newt said urgently, sitting up as straight as he could. “I care, I think more than you know, Tommy. I’m so sorry that I’m such a bloody idiot, especially after we were talking about something so serious. I didn’t mean to come off like such a jerk; I just want a second chance to prove that I can treat you better than that.”

“Well, anyone who would put _Hotel California_ on a mixtape has got to be a keeper in my book,” Thomas said with a smile. “I understand being an idiot, I’m the biggest idiot there is.”

“Aw,” Minho cooed from a table nearby. “I can’t wait to third-wheel all the time!”

“Minho, quit spying on us!” Thomas yelled. “You’re such a…shank?”

“…We’ll work on it, buddy,” Minho sighed. “Eventually, you’ll get there.”

It was raining the day that Thomas kissed Newt for the second time, and this time, Newt had no trouble kissing him back with everything he was worth.

 

* * *

 

“Tommy,” Newt giggled, a bit drunk off of the Jack that they had found in Thomas’ dad’s liquor cabinet, and a bit drunk on Thomas himself. “You never did…show me your eyes.”

“I told you, Newt,” Thomas mumbled, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “They’re ugly.”

“And _I_ told _you_. There’s absolutely nothing that could make you ugly, love. I bet you that they’re beautiful. They’re a part of you, aren’t they?” Newt replied, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into showing me, please don’t feel like I’ll be upset if you don’t. This is something you need to do in your own time, or never, if you don’t feel comfortable. But this is a safe space; I’m your safe space—I promise you that.”

Thomas stared at Newt, and although he couldn’t see his eyes, he knew that look—the look of awe and adoration, as if he had never trusted before, and finally knew what it was like to have someone to trust.

“I-I mean…” Thomas started, his hands fluttering up to the edges of his glasses. “We’ve been together for two months, right?”

“This is your decision. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together or how long we’ve known each other; this is about _trust._ ”

“I trust you,” Thomas said, surer than he had ever been, and he took his glasses off.

Newt had never been more right—Thomas’ eyes were beautiful; albeit slightly milky and a bit unfocused, they were still beautiful.

“Tommy,” Newt whispered. Thomas flinched back slightly as Newt reached his hand up slowly, but let him caress his face just the same. He ran a finger over each eyelid before pressing a kiss to each one. “Your eyes are beautiful— _you_ are so god damned lovely.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How did it happen?”

“Me being so charming? I was probably born this way, but neither one of my parents are this good looking, so I feel like I’m the anomaly, y’know?” Thomas shrugged, sitting on the couch in Newt’s house, eating a bowl of popcorn. The two boys had been watching the first _Iron Man_ movie, and it shocked Newt every time that Thomas could recite every marvel movie with perfect accuracy.

 _“Perks of not being able to see, love!”_  

“C’mon, Tommy,” Newt rolled his eyes. “I just…I’m sorry for asking.”

“No, it’s okay.” Thomas sighed, searching for the remote and pausing the movie. “It was a couple of months before you met me. My dad wasn’t the best dude around, he liked to beat on my mom when he got drunk; so like, always. He never touched me or my brother, but one day I got fed up and I couldn’t watch him hit her anymore, so I got involved. Bastard hit me in the face with a whisky bottle and detached both of my retinas. We can’t afford the surgery to get them fixed, and our insurance doesn’t cover it.” Thomas shrugged. “I could have died that night, but instead, my dad’s doing the maximum sentence for attempted murder and we live in his house. It could be worse.”

Thomas always had a way of stunning Newt into silence, so he said the only thing that was on his mind, “You’re incredible, you know that, right?”

And Thomas just laughed, because he didn’t see it, he’d probably never see it, but Newt saw it enough for the both of them. So he kissed him and he kissed him and he kissed him, hoping that maybe if he kissed Thomas hard enough, he’d start to believe that he was worth something, too.

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining the day that Newt asked Thomas the question he had wanted to ask since he had met him.

“Do you ever wonder what I look like?” He whispered. The two boys were holed up in Newt’s room, bodies tangled, Scary Movie 3 on TV. “Do you ever wonder if you’d think that I’m ugly, or if you’d see me and realize that you wouldn’t want to be with me?”

Thomas sighed, carefully removing himself from his boyfriend’s arms with a few small protests and grabby hands from Newt.

“Of course, I wonder what you look like, moron,” Thomas chuckled, his face turning a slight bit sad. He reached out and ran his fingers through Newts hair—he had grown so accustomed to Newt that he didn’t even have to guess or stumble through where the parts of his body were, he just _knew._ “It doesn’t bother me much, though. I just _know_ that I love you—what you look like is more just a formality to me, I guess. I knew that I loved you the first time that you said my name. Something about it…I didn’t need to know what you looked like, because your voice was so beautiful it made my body sing. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like love at first sight, but love at first voice, y’know?”

Thomas ducked his head, a shy smile on his now-crimson face—as if the two boys hadn’t already been together for six months and compliments weren’t a common occurrence for them.

“Remember when you said you just knew that my eyes would be beautiful?” Newt nodded his head vigorously; he remembered it clearly. Even after that day, Thomas still wasn’t comfortable taking his glasses off around Newt, and Newt understood. The times that he did felt like little secrets between the two boys—something only they shared. Newt felt like it was almost a privilege for Thomas to trust him like that. “It’s almost like that. I don’t have to see you, I just know.”

“They say that blind people truly love because they don’t base anything off of looks, it’s all off of true love,” Newt said, pulling at the edge of Thomas’ shirt to get him to lay back down again.

“I guess they’re kind of right,” Thomas smiled, kissing Newt on the forehead. “But I can still tell that you’re beautiful. Your voice says it all.”

Yeah, rainy days were always the best kind of days for Newt.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> psa: i do not know anyone who is blind, this is entirely fiction, although i did the best i possibly could with research and accuracy. if there's anything that i could do to make this more accurate, please let me know in the comments! the last thing i would want to do is offend anyone!
> 
> another note: this is supposed to be a character who makes light of his own disability. any jokes are not meant in any way to be ignorant, they're meant to be a teenage boy coping with his disability in an unhealthy way
> 
> if you enjoy please leave kudos or comment! thank you ily xoxox


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